Her Fandom Friend Was Lethal Chapter 2

Panic, dark and suffocating, clawed up my throat. If I couldn't even prove who she was, I had lost my only leverage. The timeline was already slipping through my fingers.

Desperation tore through me, and I screamed into the phone's microphone:

"You're a liar! You took out high-interest loans from loan sharks! You plan to sell my sister to pay off your debt! You’re going to ruin everything! You’re going to kill our whole family!"

Wendy’s face darkened instantly. She tapped the screen to kill the call, her jaw set.

"Abigail, that is enough." Her voice carried a sharpness I had rarely heard. "I don't care what scary internet rabbit hole you fell down, but Melanie is my friend. You do not talk to people like that."

She turned the deadbolt, swinging the door wide.

"I have saved up for this concert for a year. Mom and Dad never let me travel out of state for shows, and the tour finally stopped right here in the city. Are you really trying to ruin this for me?"

Even in her anger, she was trying to be gentle, trying to reason with a younger sister she thought was being selfish. But I clamped my arms around her hips again, dropping all my weight, tears soaking her shirt.

"Hate me then! Call me names! I don't care! You are not walking out that door!"

The commotion finally drew my parents from the master bedroom down the hall.

Mom hurried out in her slippers, trying to peel my fingers off Wendy.

"Abby, stop this right now. We know you love your sister, but we all agreed she could go, remember?"

Wendy slipped out of my grip, adjusting her tote bag with a relieved sigh. Seeing my blotchy, hysterical face, her expression softened with pity, but she still took a step backward toward the porch.

"I have to tell them. I have to tell them I died and came back."

I opened my mouth, but my throat seized shut. A strange, invisible pressure clamped down on my chest—the words "time travel" and "second life" withered into static behind my teeth, entirely unutterable.

Wendy turned on her heel to leave.

A memory flashed behind my eyelids—jagged, electric, and sudden.

"The hostel!" I shrieked.

Wendy’s foot froze on the welcome mat.

I gasped for air, speaking as fast as my lungs allowed.

"You didn't book a regular hotel! You told Mom and Dad you booked a three-star downtown, but you cancelled it to save cash for pit tickets! You booked two bunks in that cheap backpacker hostel over by the industrial park, didn't you?"

I locked eyes with her, trembling from head to toe. "You kept that a secret between you and Melanie. Even Mom and Dad don't know. How could I possibly know that if I were just making this up? Please, Wendy. Just trust me once. Don't go today."

Years ago, when we dragged Wendy’s broken body into that police cruiser, her mind had been shattered beyond repair. She hadn't known who I was. When the officers questioned her, she had merely rocked back and forth, chanting the same broken refrain into the stale air:

"If only we didn't go to the hostel... home... I just want to go home..."

Then she had blinked, her clouded eyes clearing for a fraction of a second: "Abby? You came to get me?"

A second later, taking in the ruin of her own amputated limbs, her mouth had twisted into a grotesque, despairing grin. Before anyone could react, she had flung the door open at seventy miles an hour.

I snapped back to the present, my vision swimming red.

"Wendy, you can't go to that hostel. You can't!"

Dad stepped forward, his easygoing face hardening into something sharp and attentive.

"Is what your sister saying true, Wendy? You’re staying at a hostel? In that part of town?"

Wendy shrank back, her cheeks burning red. The shock on her face was undeniable. She couldn't fathom how her little sister knew her private booking details.

Mom’s voice brooked no argument. "Absolutely not. The city might seem fine in the daytime, but those unmonitored crash pads are a magnet for vagrants and creeps. You are not sleeping there."

Wendy hung her head, the guilt clear in her posture.

Dad pulled me into his side, his large hand resting on my trembling shoulder.

"People say little kids have a sixth sense about danger," he murmured quietly. "Wendy, you know Abby doesn't throw fits like this. Look at her. She’s terrified. Maybe... maybe you should sit this one out. I’ll drive you to their next tour stop next summer."

Tears welled up in Wendy’s eyes, bright with frustration.

"Dad! It’s their ten-year anniversary tour! I’ve been counting down the days for twelve months! You can't just cancel it two hours before the gates open!"

Panicking, she raised both hands in surrender. "Fine! I won't pinch pennies! I’ll pay the extra cash and check Melanie and me into the luxury hotel downtown right now. The big one on Grand Avenue."

She unclipped the pink GPS safety watch from my wrist and strapped it around her own.

"Look, Abby. Track me on Mom’s phone. You’ll see exactly where I am every second. I won't get lost. Can I please go now?"

Mom and Dad traded a long, hesitant glance. Dad finally let out a heavy sigh.

"Alright. But you text us the second you check in. Deal?"

"Deal!"

My eyes dilated in horror. I lunged forward, but Dad’s arm caught me gently around the ribs.

Before I could tear free, Wendy slipped through the doorway, pulled the door shut, and jogged down the driveway.

"No!" I screamed. "No!"